


Light

by kataurah



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Missing Scene, Romance, Smut, we're saying fuck you to canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 05:16:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18910315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kataurah/pseuds/kataurah
Summary: They are attuned to each other. They way they'd fought together, side by side, back to back, moving as one as though they'd been doing it all their lives, attested to that.And the way they'd moved together last night...Jaime and Brienne, learning and discovering each other anew as they embrace the intimacy, trust and desire between them.





	Light

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first in a series of one-shots that I'm going to write to help myself cope with the utter mess that the latter half of season 8 turned out to be. Most of them will be set during that honeymoon period they got to have at Winterfell that canon gifted us to play around in (even if we didn't get to bloody _see_ any of it. I plan on reuploading the couple of JB fics I took down too, cause I guess we need all the fic we can get right now. Love you, JB fam. We'll be okay.

The fire is burning low; embers barely glowing in the still darkness of pre-dawn, and Jaime smiles in the knowledge that he has kept Brienne distracted enough for her to neglect her diligence in tending it. No doubt the temperature in the room has dropped considerably, but here, nestled beneath the fur covers next to her, Jaime is warm and drowsy and content. 

Brienne sleeps, her breathing quiet and even, and she looks so peaceful and vulnerable and _young_ , unburdened by the worries of her waking hours, that Jaime feels his chest tighten and his eyes sting a little just from watching her. He's so used to seeing her stoic and serious, so rarely does she let her guard down even a fraction. That she is allowing him to see her like this... That she trusts him so completely...    
  
Gods, he is unworthy.    
  
In the faint firelight, Jaime takes in her kiss swollen mouth, the mess of curls his hands have made of her short hair, the healthy, rosy hue of her pale skin, redder in places where his beard has rubbed against her. More places, he knows, that are hidden beneath the covers, and feels a tug of desire and base satisfaction low in his belly to know that she bears the marks of their lovemaking.    
  
For that is what it was; Jaime does not even _want_ to deny it. This could never just be fucking, for there is too much between them. Jaime might call it love if he weren't altogether thrilled and terrified at the thought. Perhaps he ought to feel as though he has betrayed Cersei; he knows he would have in the past, had he ever taken any other lover, but he'd never wanted to.    
  
But now Jaime wants. He wants so much in a way that is both familiar and entirely foreign, because in his life up until now he has only ever wanted Cersei. Brienne is everything Cersei is not, and that is what he loves about her. He loves that she is selfless and good and without guile. He loves that she is the most honourable person he has ever known, the most deserving of a knighthood. And he loves her for believing he is capable of all the same things.    
  
And, oh, he _wants_.    
  
He wants her sweet, inexperienced enthusiasm, her mouth learning the rhythm of his, the quiver of strong muscles beneath sensitive, touch-starved skin. He wants to drown himself in the calming, shining blue of her eyes, brimming with a thousand unsaid things, the sound of her sighing his name - _Jaime_ , his name alone - as she comes undone, to bury himself inside her again and again...    
  
He feels it thrumming through him, with every beat of his heart, like she is suffusing all of his senses and rushing through his bloodstream. His body calls to hers; he knows now that it did long before he came north. Perhaps as far back as Harrenhall, where they shared so much more than a bath. They are attuned to each other. They way they'd fought together, side by side, back to back, moving as one as though they'd been doing it all their lives, attested to that.    
  
And the way they'd moved together last night...    
  
Jaime shivers at the heat rushing through him rather than the cold of the room, and lifts his lone hand to bridge the small space between them, brushing back an errant blonde curl from Brienne's peaceful face; touching just to touch. His fingers barely graze her skin, but Brienne's eyelids twitch, a slight furrow appears in her brow and her nose wrinkles rather adorably as she gradually awakes, and, oh, this is something he knows he wants to watch every morning for as long as she will allow him.    
  
Pale eyelashes flutter and then Jaime is lost in calm, sleepy blue. It washes over him, much like gazing upon the glittering, sapphire waters of her homeland.   
  
Part of him expects the shutters to fall over her eyes, hiding behind those (almost) impenetrable walls she's built in defence against the harsh, cruel world. The most fearful part of him - that which hates himself and _knows_ she deserves so much more - expects her to stiffen, recoil in disgust and regret, even though it's been years since she's reacted to him in such a way. Brienne does none of those things. She blinks at him, soft and open, and offers him a small, shy smile that makes his breath catch in his throat and is enough to unravel him completely.    
  
Jaime trails his fingers over her cheek, then, and down her long, pale neck, watching enraptured as a blush rises beneath his touch even as she shivers at the same time.   
  
He smiles back, "The fire's gone out." Gentle. Teasing.    
  
To his delight she shuffles closer in response, until the two of them are a little cross-eyed in their unwavering gaze and Jaime can feel the warmth of her breath when she gives a little huff that's half annoyance, half amusement.    
  
"I was a little preoccupied."    
  
Even her voice is softer than he's ever heard it.    
  
"Mmm, yes, you were." He allows smugness to creep into his own, and she begins to roll her eyes until he gives into the urge to pull her into his arms and roll her beneath him, startling a gasp from her. He rumbles low in her ear, "Good morning, Brienne."     
  
Her long, powerful legs immediately fall open to cradle his hips as though they have been doing this for years rather than in the wake of their first night together.    
  
_The first of many, many more_ , he thinks. The first of the rest of their lives, if he has anything to say about it.    
  
All uncertainty clearly forgotten and emboldened by his obvious desire - pressed as he is, hot and hard and oh so ready against the sweet, answering heat of her cunt - Brienne lets herself reach out, curls her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulls him into a deep, sensual kiss that is somehow soft and hungry at the same time. She knows better how to kiss him now, but still explores his mouth like a new delicacy, touches him to discover what makes him gasp and sigh and shudder. Jaime knows how she feels: he knows her heart and mind, now he wants to learn her body and memorise every single part of her.    
  
"Good morning, Jaime," she murmurs, warm and affectionate, between kisses, and Jaime smiles, tasting his name on her lips.    
  
Over the next hour, he makes sure to draw it from her over and over again -    
  
_ Jaime, Jaime, Jaime _   
  
\- and he knows he will never tire of it.    



End file.
